The Palm Beach Post from West Palm Beach, Florida · Page 843

Page 843 article text (OCR)

The
Palm
Beach
Post
n
SECTION
D
HEY,
PARENTSI
Ready
for
summer?
Tell
us
where
your
kids
go
to
camp
and
why
they
like
it.
PAGE
6D
SOCIETY
SNAPSHOTS
It
was
a
flurry
of
chapeaus
as
the
'Hat
Squad'
swirled
into
Palm
Beach
for
the
'Mad
Hatters'
luncheon.
PAGE
3D
North
Palm
Beach
County
Living
i-
i
t
k
i
SUNDAY,
MARCH
29,
1998
ACCENT
I
low
loud,
lewd
and
rude
is
Florida's
favorite
parly?
Find
out
from
the
middle-aged
man
who
tried
to
crash
it.
rYn
UULJ3
v
v
I
t..
f
V
v.
'
j
m
1
"
at
Cruising,
a
kid
ritual
at
every
beach,
is
a
little
different
at
Daytona,
where
it
happens
on
the
beach.
For
$5,
you
get
to
drive
all
day.
Story
by
Douglas
Kalajian
Photos
by
Dill
Ingram
'People
see
me,
and
they
go,
"It's
Jon
Secada,
it's
family,"
'
says
the
singer,
hanging
out
at
the
Upton
last
week.
Holding
court:
Secada
serves
(and
I
swoon)
Jon
Secada
considered
himself
such
a
dork
that
he
nearly
ditched
his
senior
prom.
Yes,
that
Secada,
the
swoon-inspiring
Cuban
crooner
who
belts
out
songs
de
amor
with
sweaty-chested
verve
"I
was
very
shy,
very
introverted,"
says
the
79
Hialeah
High
School
grad.
"I
finally
asked
someone
to
go
with
me
about
two
days
before."
Get
a
load
of
this,
girls.
I
have
SeHor
Secada
ALL
TO
MY
!
SELF.
No
Revo-shaded
1
v'
I
entourage,
no
paranoid
1
j
'.
I
bublicists.
Just
me
and
the
Latino
of
Love.
...
n
o
out
in
the
posh
Hugo
Boss
suite
at
The
Lip-ton
Championships
in
A
;
I
ASA"
ijWf'
UUN
H
Key
Biscayne,
and
he
and
I
stroll
outside
to
a
table
topped
with
;v-'
.
.....--7-
f-A
toSSS
S
-
white
tulips
so
fresh
they
look
starched.
(Tourney
sponsor
Hugo
Boss,
you
see,
Loretta
Grantham
Between
a
day
of
drinking
and
a
night
of
drinking,
the
kids
make
time
for
some
more
drinking
before
heading
out
to
the
dance
clubs
or
to
parties
in
other
rooms.
Beer,
as
always,
is
the
fuel
of
choice.
This
group
makes
the
can
pyramid
a
nightly
ritual.
supplies
Secada's
wardrobe.
One
time
when
he
wore
a
Boss
tuxedo,
the
Bal
Harbour
shop
sold
13
the
next
day.
This,
mi
amigos,
is
marketing.)
1'
Today,
he's
courtside
casual
in
a
white
ribbed
T-shirt
under
an
unbuttoned
royal
blue
collared
shirt
with
linen
shorts
and
black
slip-on
sandals.
Get
the
visual?
If
you
didn't
know
who
he
was,
you'd
mistake
himior
just
a
regular
Jose
in
the
express
line
at
Publix.
I-
And
that's
part
of
his
allure.
Secada
who
sold
6
million
copies
of
his
first
album
six
years
ago
(plus
a
half
million
more
in
Spanish)
is
still
a
homeboy
at
heart.
Like
the
title
of
his
smash
hit,
it's
Just
Another
Day
when
he's
in
South
Florida.
I.
"People
see
me,
and
they
go,
'It's
Jon
Secada,
it's
family.'
For
ihe
Latin
community
to
make
you
part
of
their
family,
it's
so
great.
They'll
see
me
and
nod
or
wave,
but
it's
not
like
it's
a
big
deal."
To
me,
it's
a
big
deal.
I
saw
Secada
two
years
ago
at
SunFest
and
yearned
to
fling
myself
on
stage.
I
was
young
then.
As
we
chat,
folks
amble
by
(including
Barry
Gibbs'
teenage
son,
Ashley,
who
says
hello).
He
has
the
Gibb
teeth!
Some
don't
notice
Secada,
others
gawk,
and
a
few
request
an
autograph.
The
performer
is
exceedingly
patient,
even
making
one
out
to
"B.B.,"
the
gal
who's
cleaning
tables.
("Lord
have
mercy,"
she
squeals.)
.Secada
on
the
cover
of
this
month's
Miami
Metro
(formerly
South
Florida
Please
see
L0RETTA5Z)
irst,
the
punchline:
Now
the
setup:
The
editors
decided
it
would
be
funny
to
send
a
Jr,1
4
A
Kate
from
Ohio's
Miami
University
grinds
herself
lower
than
rival
Cindy
from
Central
Michigan
on
her
way
to
victory
in
a
wet
T-shirt
contest.
Anonymity,
beer
and
surging
school
spirit
help
girls
get
over
their
inhibitions
and
compete
for
$50
or
$
100
in
prize
money.
P
DAY
2:
Panama
City
Beach
Panama
City
Beach
claims
to
have
the
world's
most
beautiful
beach.
I
don't
know:
In
this
weather,
all
I
see
is
wet
sand
and
frothy,
steel-colored
water.
But
along
the
street,
this
might
be
the
ugliest
beachfront
south
of
New
Jersey.
Driving
its
20-some
miles,
I
get
a
powerful
sense
of
deja
view:
motel,
go-kart
track,
T-shirt
shop.
Waffle
House;
motel,
go-kart
track,
T-shirt
shop,
Waffle
House.
It's
college-kid
heaven.
I'm
lucky
to
find
room
at
a
motel
where
41
Spring
Breakers
are
scheduled
to
arrive
over
the
next
24
hours.
The
Canadians
are
already
in
town,
along
with
kids
from
a
handful
of
American
schools,
but
the
big
wave
breaks
tomorrow.
The
official
count
by
local
tourism
folks
shows
37
colleges
and
universities
on
the
way,
most
from
the
Northeast
and
Midwest
but
that
doesn't
include
dozens
of
small
schools
and
community
colleges.
In
all,
more
than
500.000
kids
will
swamp
the
normal
population
of
4,100
over
the
next
six
weeks.
I
settle
in
and
call
home.
I
can
sense
my
wife's
eyebrows
arching
as
I
tell
her
I'm
staying
at
a
motel
called
Bikini
Beach.
"You
should
have
just
stayed
home
and
called
Richie
Tarzian."
she
says.
I
remind
her
we've
had
this
discussion
before
and
that
I'm
certain
no
one's
"in
charge"
of
Spring
Break.
The
wind
picks
up
dramatically,
and
I
hear
rain
Plrase
see
STRING
BREAK
SD
t
middle-aged
writer
to
find
out
what
the
college
kids
are
doing
on
this
year's
spring
vacation.
You
know,
paunchy,
balding
guy
bumbles
his
way
through
a
mass
of
muscle
boys.
That's
how
I
wound
up
driving
1,400
miles
up,
down
and
across
Florida
in
a
red
convertible,
a
quarter-century
late
for
my
first
Spring
Break
road
trip:
eight
days
and
seven
nights
of
loud
noise,
little
sleep,
fast
food
and,
only
because
there
was
no
way
to
avoid
it,
an
endless
parade
of
bikini
babes.
Did
I
enjoy
it?
Absolutely
not
My
wife
was
very
clear
on
that
point
I
was
not
to
have
fun.
In
fact,
she
thought
I
should
just
stay
home
and
report
the
story
by
phone.
Somehow,
she
got
it
in
her
head
that
her
mother's
neighbor
was
in
charge
of
Spring
Break.
"Just
call
Richie
Tarzian,"
she
said,
over
and
over.
When
I
insisted
that
I
knew
how
to
report
a
newspaper
story
and
the
trip
was
unavoidable,
she
insisted
that
I
get
back
in
time
to
celebrate
my
46th
birthday
with
Auntie
Arp
and
Uncle
Walt
I
promised
her
I
wouldn't
miss
it
It's
one
promise
I
kept
DAY
1:
The
road
I'm
planning
a
fast
drive
to
Panama
City
Beach
in
the
Panhandle,
the
nation's
hottest
Spring
Break
destination,
and
then
)
Ron
Wiggins
P
DAY
2:
It's
a
long
road
Mid-morning,
on
the
outskirts
of
Tallahassee,
I
abandon
Interstate
10
for
two-lane
blacktop
and
begin
the
long,
slow
descent
toward
the
Panhandle's
southern
coast
The
sun
is
strong,
the
temperature
rising.
I
lower
the
top.
The
breeze
feels
luxurious,
like
outdoor
air
conditioning.
I
drive
about
five
miles
before
the
sky
darkens.
A
mile
later,
the
rain
begins.
I
pull
into
a
Food
Lion
lot
and
raise
the
top.
The
rest
of
the
drive
is
misty
and
gray.
It's
the
best
weather
111
see
all
week.
over
to
Daytona
Beach,
former
champ
and
still
a
contender.
That
should
bring
me
home
for
the
festivities.
After
that,
a
minibreak
to
South
Beach
and
Fort
Lauderdale,
once
synonymous
with
Spring
Break.
After
consulting
with
my
teenage
daughter,
I
have
reserved
the
perfect
Spring
Break
convertible:
a
Mitsubishi
Eclipse
Spyder.
This
is
a
car
that
will
instantly
signal
my
hipness.
I
arrive
at
the
rental
agency
to
find
none
on
the
lot
I
settle
for
a
red
Pontiac
Sunfire,
which
instantly
signals
I'm
a
middle-aged
man
in
a
rental
car.
At
least
it's
a
convertible,
and
the
weather's
gorgeous.
I
leave
the
top
up
as
I
drive
nearly
to
the
Georgia
border.
There
will
be
plenty
of
time
f
r
a
wind
blown
tan,
I'm
sure.
Would
shooting
up
a
school
ever
have
occurred
to
my
classmates
in
the
1950s?
No
and
not
because
we
were
strangers
to
violence.
Page
4D
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